Uprooting
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Micharol AU. Oneshot. Carol had uprooted her life to get away from the past. Michonne had to decide for herself, though, if she was moving on or staying put. Michonne/Carol


**AN: So this is from a tumblr prompt for Carol and Michonne with long distance relationship. I've never written these two in more than a friendship, so that's something new for me. I'd like to do more of it, I think, though. It could be interesting to play with that dynamic.**

 **At any rate, I hope that you enjoy my first attempt at these two. Let me know what you think!**

 **I own nothing from the show.**

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" _Schools look good. Sophia's settling in well. She loves her teacher. Ms. Kay. I'm hearing about her every ten or fifteen minutes. There's a daycare not ten minutes from here. It's nice. I could ask for some information?"_

Michonne read the message and drummed her fingers on the piece of bare table that was right in front of the keyboard of her laptop. It was a big move. It was across five state lines. It would mean uprooting her practice. It would mean searching out a different practice to join or either opening her own practice.

That's what she'd wanted to do since she'd started working in law. She'd wanted to own her own practice. She'd wanted to be her own boss and put herself really to the test.

Carol had gone out there because she'd gotten a job. She'd gone out there because there was nothing for her here. All that was here were memories of a marriage that had failed. Everywhere she went, there were reminders that she'd spent too many years with Ed. There were reminders that people remembered what had happened. They remembered what he'd done, but they also seemed to see it—as people blindly would sometimes—as Carol's fault. Ed was here. Even if he'd moved on and gone somewhere else to get away from anyone who knew his past? He was here. His ghost practically haunted the entire town.

Carol had to leave to get away from that.

Dean was here too. He was right here, five miles away from Michonne and her daughters, and he couldn't be bothered to even acknowledge that the girls were his. Physically he stayed in town, but he acted as though he could ignore his past entirely—even better than Ed.

Then, of course, there was the scandal.

Maybe it wasn't a scandal. Maybe that was being a touch too dramatic. Michonne would insist that Carol had the flair for drama out of the two of them, but maybe Michonne recognized her own occasional flair for it too. It wasn't a scandal. If anything? It was a rumor. It was a source of entertainment for the "natives". It wasn't much of a scandal.

Some days? Michonne wasn't sure what it was. She doubted Carol was entirely certain either.

It was the coming together of two people. It was the coming together of two women who had trusted men that had done terrible things with that trust. It was the discovery of physical appreciation for each other—but more than that? It was bonding between their minds and their hearts.

I won't hurt you. I won't touch you any way that you don't want to be touched. I won't shame you or insult you. I won't make you feel worthless, because you're worth so much. I won't cheat on you. I won't search out someone better than you because you're the best that there is for me.

They had two different stories, but in many ways their stories were beginning to twine together. They were beginning to overlap and to wind around each other. The dream—if it never became more than a dream—was that one day the two stories might blend entirely to become one.

They were good for each other, even if it had taken them far out of their comfort zones to admit it.

New comfort zones could be established. They'd learned that already.

And their children were good together. Sophia was wonderful with Angie and Celine. She loved babysitting them and caring for them like the three year old and two year old were practically living dolls made especially for her to cherish. Anjelica, as difficult as she could be sometimes, adored Sophia too. Celine was a given—she loved "Sobie" already.

Michonne sighed and clicked to respond to the message. She hovered her fingers over the keys for a moment and then finally set herself to type her reply.

 _What can it hurt to ask for information? More than daycare, we need to think about other things. What are my job possibilities?_

She didn't have to wait long. Carol was sitting on go. Michonne read her message and then reached for her phone and dialed Carol's number rather than prolonging communication through typing back and forth. Two and a half rings and Carol picked up.

"Not crowded at all," Carol said. "There's a lot of potential for a lawyer. Especially a good one like you."

Michonne smiled to herself at hearing Carol's voice coming over the line. She was getting pushy—and it was a beautiful thing. She'd been taught, by Ed, not to make demands. She'd been taught to be quiet and controlled. The first time that she'd stomped her foot at Michonne and demanded to be listened to, rather than being annoyed or offended, Michonne had been proud.

She was becoming comfortable. She was becoming comfortable with Michonne, but she was also becoming comfortable with herself.

"Just because you think I'm a good lawyer..." Michonne started. Carol cut her off and Michonne bit her lip to keep from laughing at Carol's insistence that it wasn't just her—it was simple fact. Michonne interrupted her praises. "I'll need a building. A place to put a practice."

"Mich—there are buildings here. It's not the middle of nowhere. And you can make it what you want. We can live off my income and savings for a while," Carol said.

"You want me to be a kept woman?" Michonne said.

"I want you here," Carol responded. "The daycare looks really nice. It's got a nice little playground. I could ask about it. It's close to work for me and it's not far from the house."

Michonne hummed.

"The house," Michonne said. "Your house."

"That's the only house around town that I'm really concerned about," Carol said.

"And that's a problem," Michonne countered.

Silence.

"It's two bedrooms," Michonne said. "If I were to come there? And I'm only saying if, then we'll need more room. We can't get three girls in one bedroom. One bath, Carol? We'd all die."

Carol laughed on the other end of the line.

"Come look at houses with me," Carol said. "I'm only renting. I can move when I want. Month to month. Come out here, look at houses. We'll pick out something that makes everyone happy. Four bedrooms and Celine gets a princess pink room."

Michonne sighed, but couldn't help but chuckle to herself.

"Angie isn't having any part of a pink room," Michonne said.

"That's why her room's her room," Carol said. "Blue or green or whatever color she loves today."

"Purple for Soph?" Michonne asked.

A light laugh from Carol.

"Purple for Soph," she confirmed.

"I don't want to come out there without a business," Michonne said. "I don't want to put that strain on you. I don't want to put that kind of financial strain on us. Savings are there for a reason. They're there for emergencies."

"Then come pick out the house and look for a building? Hire someone?" Carol asked. "Work with someone else for a while? Get a clientele?"

Michonne hummed and ran her fingers around the edge of the table to give her something to do for a moment while she avoided commenting.

"It's going to take time for me to get going again," Michonne said.

"You've got three bedrooms to paint," Carol said.

"There's no telling how long it could take for me to find people. You know how those little towns work, Carol. They might not trust someone out of town," Michonne said.

"You can decorate the whole house," Carol said. "I'm sick of being domestic. It might be nice to come home from work and have—dinner cooked for me."

Michonne laughed to herself.

"The last time I took time off of work? I was a burden," Michonne said. "I was a burden and—not fun anymore. Mother of two—remember?"

"I'm great with kids," Carol responded. "They almost never give me any trouble that I can't handle."

Michonne snorted.

"It's a new start," Carol said. "If we hate it? We can always go back to Georgia. Always. Georgia isn't going anywhere and that town isn't changing. You know it and I do too. If we hate it? We go back and you pick up your old job. I'll find something there. But right now? I like my job. I love the town. But it's quiet here. I wouldn't mind a little company."

There was nothing holding Michonne here. Nothing. She'd moved here when she'd married Dean because it was where he wanted to go. It was the best choice for her. Her family was states away in the other direction. She had friends here, but they were limited. Many of them, even, had proven themselves not to be very good friends when they'd offered her more than one explanation of how her failed marriage was her fault. Dean had cheated on her, yes, but what had she done to make him cheat?

Michonne swallowed.

She was used to being in control. She was used to being in charge of her life.

That was a lie.

She'd never felt in charge of her life. Not really. She'd always felt that she was on shaky ground. She was really only used to wearing a mask that suggested that she had control of her life. She was used to wearing a mask that said that she needed nothing and no one. Everything was perfection in her world.

Carol could see through that mask.

"I can move some things around," Michonne said. "I can pack up the girls. We can come for a long weekend? Four days should be enough to just—see your new place?"

"Sophia and I would love to have you," Carol responded.

"We could look around," Michonne said. "I'll see what's there? Maybe talk to someone?"

"Whatever you want," Carol said. "I'll have to work, but we'll have time."

"I could stay an extra day or so," Michonne said. "Things aren't that busy right now."

"There's no rush," Carol said. "You don't have to make a decision right away. I'm not moving any time soon."

Michonne sucked her teeth and drew a pen from the cup near her like she intended to take notes or write something down to cement these plans for herself. She never wrote anything, though, she simply wiggled the pen back and forth and tapped it on the table.

"No," she said. "But—I might be."


End file.
